


Somewhere Near Greece

by WolfWarrioress



Series: No Promises [2]
Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:55:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27272293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfWarrioress/pseuds/WolfWarrioress
Summary: Nothing at the beginning of Jul's life was easy. He survived it, but the scars shaped the man—and the Warlock—he was to become. Years upon years later, he might just find a reason for all of it.Every story needs a cast of characters. Time to add the second one.
Relationships: Ghost & Guardian (Destiny)
Series: No Promises [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1991296
Kudos: 1





	Somewhere Near Greece

**Author's Note:**

> Jul's Rez

Black. Darkness, a deep and endless void. He can see nothing, hear nothing, taste nothing. He has only a sense of self. He moves fingers, toes, becomes aware of limbs—and the crushing, immovable weight holding them down, now sitting on his chest. He panics, tries to thrash in the dark, but the earth holds his limbs firm. There's a burning feeling in his lungs that's growing by the moment, and he follows the human instinct to inhale for the first time in centuries—and his mouth and nose and lungs fill with dirt. He becomes heady, confused.

He dies.

He comes back to himself again, and the situation is the same. The crushing weight of the six feet of Earth above him remains, making it impossible for his chest to expand, but the space around his arms is looser. He takes advantage of that, flails them wildly, fingers clawing through the dirt frantically, cutting his skin and tearing his nails but he doesn't notice. The burning rises in his chest again, and he thrashes to free himself, shifting broad shoulders now, but he still struggles in vain.

He dies.

Next time, the crushing weight is a little easier on his chest, and he can feel the earth, loose dirt, shifting and falling around him. Why does this keep happening!? _Please, just leave me dead!_ he screams out into the void, and for some reason feels a distant apology in his head. He's going to go mad from this horror. He doesn't know which way is up, merely struggles blindly to clear a space for himself as the terrible, unending burning in his chest makes him thrash harder, movements jagged, desperate.

He dies.

Now, he wakes to darkness again and truly panics at the unending cycle— _what's happening, he doesn't understand!_ —but he has space to really move now, thrashing, slashing his arms. He goes up, instinct driving him to try and gain his feet, arms clawing up, finally feels the dirt give way to space above his head—and then, miraculously, light. He tips his head back as his vision tunnels, and something besides dirt hits his face, smooth and cold—water. His eyes sting along with the burning in his chest.

He dies.

The light is still there when he wakes again, and he thrashes anew, hope rising with it and desperate to reach it. His arms are free, pulling against the water, but drawing no closer. Something's wrong—his lower body still isn't free. He kicks and claws again at dirt, at rock below him, aiming for the phantom feeling of his toes. He can barely see through the stinging of his eyes. This time, his eyes, throat, and lungs burn.

He dies.

He's getting the hang of this now.

This time, he ignores the light, blinks his eyes, sets to work to free his feet before the horrible burning in his chest returns. Then, suddenly, he's free, legs kicking in time with his arms, and he turns his head up again, reaching for the dim, glowing ball he can see cutting through the water. But it's so far away, so much farther than it looks, and he's still reaching in vain when his body falters and spasms.

He dies.

This time. This time, he is determined. He's not sure why he is trapped in this cycle, this hell, but he will break it. The light is closer than ever, and he reaches for it, kicks hard. Closer, closer. The water is blue now, his lungs burning with pain, the only sensation he knows in his life. But he won't give up, not now, too afraid to end up back in the dark.

He breaks the surface as spots form in front of his vision, throws his head back and gasps, takes his first breath not filled with dirt or water. Tastes salt on his lips. A wave briefly covers his head, and he fights it and panics, but it also turns him, and he sees a glittering, bright line of sand in the distance.

His chest burns, his body aches, his eyes sting, but he turns towards land, swimming slowly to it until his feet touch. He crawls out of the sea onto warm sand, too tired to gain his feet. Collapses. He lays his cheek against the gritty golden sand. Wants to close his eyes but the dark frightens him. The light has existed too little in his new life thus far to close it off just yet.

"You made it!" A voice—golden warm like the sand, sounding happy and energetic and female—says from above him, a small shadow flickering over the sand around him. "I _knew_ you could do it, of course, but I'm so sorry. I know that hurt, but we don't get to pick where our partners rez."

Blinking, eyes still stinging from the salt water, he squints against the bright sun—is everything in this life so extreme?—to look up at a little floating...thing.

"I'm your Ghost," she says in answer to the question he's thought but not asked yet. "I really am sorry. All I could do was keep bringing you back every time you died. I knew you would make it eventually, though." She sounds so happy and...proud?

He stares at the little diamond shape with one eye, and a dark ball of fury coalesces in his chest. "That—" he wheezes but his lungs seize and he coughs, doubles up on the sand as he expels dirt and water. She swoops low over him and sweeps him with a beam of light and the pressure eases. "That was your fault?" he grinds out, voice rough, pushing his chest up off the sand in a vain effort to avoid her if she comes close again.

"I mean, I didn't bury you," she says, "but you were under six feet of dirt, and then twenty feet of water. Oh dear, they never prepared me for this. It's not supposed to be so bad."

"You should have just left me. Let me die," he hisses, rolling over onto his back, lounging on his elbows, still too weak to properly sit up.

"No. I'm your Ghost. I will never leave you," she declares fiercely, flies down in front of his to hover at his eye level. "I've looked for you for so long," she adds, more gently. Already fond of him.

"Ghost?" That's the only word he has energy to focus on.

"Yes. _Your_ Ghost. And you're _my_ Risen," she brags proudly. "You're such a strong, wonderful Risen too. I'm so happy I found you." She flies forward to nuzzle into his neck, and he doesn't have the energy to push her away, though he tips his head away. "I'll take care of you."

"You've done enough, thank you. Go find someone else to bother," he growls gruffly.

"But I can't! You're _my_ partner! And I've finally found you and I'm so glad and you're perfect! What's your name, anyway? Do you remember? They say sometimes you do." He can't help but feel like she's scrutinizing his face. He glowers out at the rolling waves of the ocean and ignores her eye.

"I don't know," he growls, distracted. The sun is starting to burn on his face now, so he grudgingly pushes himself to sit up straight.

"That's okay, you'll figure one out soon. And then you can name me, and—oh wait, I forgot, I can heal you now, hang on—" suddenly, the white beam sweeps him twice, scanning, and then she flies in close, shell splitting and pulsing and—he _does_ feel better. And she seems to have an answer for everything.

"What took you so long," he growls, voice evening out to its normal timbre as the tightness in his chest clears completely. He climbs to his feet and stands up straight, beginning to knock the sand off his tattered clothes.

"I'm sorry, I'm really not doing well am I? I was so distracted with finally being able to speak to you. I'm so glad to have found you!" she repeats, and tries to fly in to nuzzle his neck again. This time, he has the strength and speed to stop her, and snaps a hand up to block her route. It doesn't seem to faze her.

"What was that?" he cuts her off before she can infuriatingly ramble again. He turns around, away from the ocean, and starts to hike across the sand inland.

"Oh—the Light! It's what binds us. The gift from the Traveler. It's how I brought you back as well. You can use it too, I can take you to people who can teach you." She spins the back half of her fins happily as she floats effortlessly beside him.

"More people like you?" he says as he reaches the shade of the trees. He runs a hand through his hair and a relieved sigh to be out of the sun.

"Well, yes, there are other Ghosts there too, but Risen like you as well. It's far away, though. I've been looking for you for years!" She flips in the air and spins her shell again. He watches her out of the corner of one eye, weighing her words carefully. There's a lot of meaning packed into her rambling, he realizes, but he's not ready to ask questions yet. He stands beneath the shadow of the trees and considers his position carefully. For now, he settles on clearing a shelter at the base of a tree and gathers a pile of foliage to burn for the rapidly approaching night.

It's strange, he muses as he stares into the fire, staunchly ignoring the non-stop rambling from his annoying companion, that he can remember things like day and night, how to swim, how to build a fire...but he has no idea who he is.

XXXXX

He doesn't want to listen to a word this floating ball of light says, but he can't stay here either. Just standing on the beach watching the waves makes his heart start to pound in fear again, remembering being trapped beneath them. So he makes his way inland, fighting through overgrown trees and brush. She wants him to go north, so he stubbornly strikes out to the east.

But land is filled with danger too; it's hot and humid, and his already tattered clothes catch on all the tree branches and bushes, there are numerous stinging insects that pursue him, and before long the old ache of hunger starts in his stomach. But there is nothing to eat.

Death by starvation isn't any fun either, he discovers. At least drowning was faster than the days of agony before he finally slumps to one side at the base of a tree, fading to black in relief.

And only minutes later the little Ghost has him on his feet again, new and strong and fully healed—but still with no food, so only to start the days of agony over again.

"No!" he yells at her, despairing, and the Ghost flinches back away from him. "Leave me alone!"

"I'm supposed to bring you back!" she yells back. "It's my job. It's not supposed to be this bad. Look, if you would just let me take you north, back to the City, there's food and people there."

He's panting, distressed and panicking at this endless loop he's realizing he is still trapped in. "If we go north, when we get there, will you finally leave me alone?"

She pauses in the air, staring at him critically. "If we get there and that's still what you want...yes," she concedes sadly, the fins on either side of her drooping.

That dark ball of fury is still in his chest, just growing darker and larger. He pulls from it, draws strength from it. Yes, he can do this, he decides. "Fine. Let's go," he says, gestures to her to lead him in the direction she's been wanting to for days. She says nothing else, merely zooms away through the trees.

He grumbles and stumbles after her. Before long, the foliage opens up into a road, and she silently leads him up that too.

He starves to death two more times. Each time, he comes to again on his knees, closes his eyes in despair as she hovers over him. She doesn't say anything anymore, just wraps up her healing beam and flies north again. He stumbles back to his feet and staggers after her.

He's about to starve to death a fourth time—but he's got two more days of agony ahead of him first, he knows this cycle well by now—when he sees it: fruit hanging low from a tree. He finds more energy than he has had in a week to rush to the base of it and wrench a piece off the branches.

"Wait!" the Ghost doesn't notice he isn't following her anymore until it's too late. "I don't think you should eat that—" He glares at her so fiercely as he takes a large bite that she shrinks back, fins pulled in tight and quiet. He's devoured it in less than a minute.

And spends the next two days delirious and writhing in agony as toxins surge his weakened body, inducing vomiting and visions and the greatest pain yet. The Ghost can do nothing but crouch on the ground near him, but outside his reach, and suffer with him. She can protect him from many things: gun shots, broken limbs, burns, these are easy to fix. But she can't fix starvation, she can't fix drowning, she can't remove toxins from his body. She can only wait until he has suffered this injustice too and then bring him back.

But his pleas to leave him alone, leave him dead, echo in her head as his cries of pain echo across the forest. She can only hope no Fallen come across them now. He is correct: if she leaves him dead, he will not have to suffer like this again. She could leave him here, to rest in peace, and fly back to the City and just tell everyone she still hasn't found her Risen. She had only ever seen her abilities as a positive—look at all the things she can fix! everything she can help with—but since she had rezzed her Risen, only bad things had happened, and it broke her heart, the weight of her responsibility finally hitting her.

He finally goes still, and stops breathing, and she flies closer and nuzzles into his neck. She sits there with him for a long time, considering, until the sun sets and then rises again. She does not want to rez him again, she loves him already, even though he hasn't even given her a name, and has only been mad at her, but she can't even blame him because he's right, every time she brings him back he dies in a more horrible manner the next time. Nobody had prepared her for how to deal with this!

But she has to, the Light inside her is nudging her already, feeling his slowly fade from beneath her. She cannot let it end here, she has to try again. She has to cling to the hope that the next time will be different. They have to keep going. She remembers hearing his thoughts as he rezzed the first few times, trapped in the earth and water, his bright mind, figuring things out so quickly, determined to break free, determined to live. He can do this, she knows. She can do this.

Lifting off his shoulder, she draws on the Light and expands her shell, pulling him back from the darkness. He lands on his feet, then drops to his knees, catching himself on his hands. She waits, and when he doesn't move she slowly flies down, closer. She wants to apologize again but she doesn't think it will help. She can feel his relief, he doesn't know he's been dead almost a day and a half, for him he just died, and now he is back and finally pain free and he relishes the feeling for a minute even though dread, and that half buried panic he can never fully vanquish are hovering just behind the relief. She wants to see his face now that it isn't twisted in pain, and hovers closer still—

He lunges for her suddenly, so suddenly that she actually shrieks, and he seizes her in his fist. Now she can see his face, and she realizes it's twisted in fury now.

"Stop bringing me back!" he screams at her, then turns and hurls her at the tree with all his strength. She screams, high pitched, when she strikes it and a corner of her shell shatters off, but she can't focus on that, struggling to right herself in the air, afraid he will grab her again, and speeding around to put the tree between them. She peeks around the tree to find him still glaring at her, fury in every line of his stance. They face each other, silent for a moment, staring each other down. Then he turns and stalks down the road, leaving her with no choice but to follow.

"It's not always like this," she whispers sadly, then leaves the safety of the tree and obediently follows him.

Looking back many, many years in the future, Harlain will recognize that she was correct: that was the most horrible way Jul died. From there, it only got better, but at the time it was hard to see. The next day, her Guardian met—and killed—his first Fallen, and things slowly start to look slightly better.

Slightly, because now he can shoot himself before the starvation gets really bad. He has to eight more times before they reach the Last City.


End file.
